Baby It's Cold Outside
by etraytin
Summary: Sam makes a Christmas visit to Ainsley in the Steam Pipe Trunk Distribution Venue and discovers the new decoration above her door. Banter ensues, as does much else. Romantic holiday fluff.


Author's Note: Hey guys! Two more days till Christmas Eve, thank goodness! It's actually a lot harder than I thought to write a full week of fic-a-days on a single theme, especially with each one standing alone. But I press onward, because I love you! Today's prompt comes from Anonymous on Tumblr who asked "Could you try writing Ainsley/Sam? I can see those two swapping pedantic debating points even while making out." Feedback is always welcome, especially right now when everybody's busy and my fluff well is running a little low. Hope you enjoy!

…...

The voice was unexpected, layering over the soft Christmas music playing in the Steam Pipe Trunk Distribution Venue. "You know, if I had to make a guess, I'd say it's about twenty degrees warmer in your office than mine today."

Ainsley looked up from her work to see Sam lounging indolently in her doorway, as he was wont to do when he had a few spare minutes and a desire for verbal sparring. She quirked an eyebrow at him. "Oh really?"

"It's true!" he insisted. "I didn't take off my overcoat till ten-thirty, and now I come down here and feel like I should take off my jacket."

Ainsley understood that feeling, she'd stopped wearing outfits that required jackets at all unless she was going to court, and started keeping an extra stick of antiperspirant in her desk. "I suppose you just didn't talk to the right people when it came time to choosing offices," she suggested mildly. "You know what they say about location."

"I also can't help but notice you've got some mistletoe here," Sam informed her, looking up to the door lintel. "Is somebody trying to catch you, or are you trying to catch someone?" The grin he gave her was positively smirkworthy as he pointedly avoided moving out of the doorway.

"I do have some mistletoe there," she agreed. "I placed it there myself earlier in order to help settle a dispute I was having with a colleague in the Counsel's office regarding implied versus explicit consent, but it's fairly esoteric in its context and I would hate to bore you with the details of it."

He raised both eyebrows at her explanation. "I think I can handle it. I'm a lawyer myself, you know."

"Of course you are," Ainsley agreed indulgently, favoring him with a smile that was both kindly and condescending. "You and Josh are both real lawyers, you've told me so on many occasions."

Sam's perfect lips formed a round O of outrage. "Now you take that back right now!" he insisted, abandoning his mistletoe-ready position to step fully into her sauna. "I am a thousand times the attorney Josh is. I practiced at Gage Whitney in New York! I was slated for a partnership! Josh barely passed the bar exam in Connecticut. Connecticut, for God's sake, where they'll let anything with a pulse be a lawyer, and then he never even practiced! I can't believe you'd lump me in with him just because we work in the same White House, Ainsley, you of all people!"

She sat patiently and waited for him to wind down, enjoying the blush that righteous pontificating (or possibly the eighty-degree temperatures) brought to his cheeks. "You're pretty cute when you're flush with righteous indignation," she told him, tongue-in-cheek. "I guess it's just as well you're a Democrat."

His glare was a fearsome thing, but she just countered with her sweetest, blandest smile. Finally she asked him, "Did you come down here for a reason, Sam, or were you just looking for a respite from the chill?"

"I was planning to ask you if you'd have dinner with me," he informed her haughtily. "But if you prefer the company of attorneys..."

"My, aren't we high in the boughs today," she teased, stepping out from behind the desk. "Not unlike mistletoe, really. But I would like to inquire as to why you're asking me to dinner specifically this evening, when we've been sharing dinners nearly every night for the past month. At this point, you're already penciled into my calendar unless you say otherwise ahead of time."

Sam took a step towards her, bringing him right to the edge of her personal space, but not into it quite yet. "I'd hate to take you for granted," he told her with that killer grin, the one he seemed to deploy especially for her. "Besides, it's almost Christmas, I wasn't sure if you'd have plans."

"I have many plans," Ainsley assured him, "but my plans for tonight already included you. An entire month, we've been sharing dinners," she reminded him. "A legal expert capable of wrangling with the thorny issue of implied consent might be able to take it as read after a certain point that certain liberties might be welcome, and that the party of the second part would be more than capable of declining if she were too busy or... whatever else." She took a half-step towards him, almost touching, not quite.

"As in the same sort of implied consent that might be imputed to hanging mistletoe above the door in the exact same place where the party of the first part tends to come and lean with a certain regularity?" he queried in return, the grin modulating into something slower and a bit more sinful. He took a step back and she moved with him, till they were under the greenery once more.

"Mmm, exactly that sort," she agreed, closing her eyes and leaning in.

"I've always been a fan of explicit consent myself," Sam informed her suddenly in his normal everyday voice again, his grin back to a smirk. "So if there's anything you want to say right now..."

"Dammit Seaborn, come here," she growled, grabbing hold of his tie and pulling him in for a kiss. He might have started to say something else, but it was lost in the press of lips. He'd already proven himself an exceptional kisser on her previous occasions for exploration, and this outing was no different, despite the way he'd attempted to wind her up beforehand. Perhaps even a little bit more so because her dander was up now and her blood was moving that much faster.

"There, see?" he asked when they finally broke for air, his arms still around her waist. "No confusion, no grounds for mistake or misapprehension. I find it a highly superior proposition. So to speak." 

"Oh, I don't know," she countered, walking her fingers up and down his arm. "I was hoping for an expanded discussion later on other forms of implied consent during this joyous Christmas season, such as the donning or doffing of certain specially-procured items of festive clothing, or the inherent symbolism of a gift-wrap bow on the head or around the neck, especially in the absence of other raiment..." She blinked innocently up at him, noting with pleasure that his eyes had glazed over. "But if you're not interested in even having the discussion..."

"Oh, now I didn't say that," Sam assured her hastily, shaking himself back from his happy place. "You offer a number of compelling arguments, and I feel I'd be remiss in not exploring them in their full implications when there's time to consider each point fully."

"So, seven o'clock or thereabouts, then?" Ainsley asked with as much coyness as she could muster, which was admittedly not too much. She played with his tie instead, giving it another playful little tug.

"Sounds good," Sam replied, his voice a little strained and not because his tie was too tight. He leaned down and kissed her again, not quite as leisurely but still nicely thorough, then reached up to take the mistletoe down from above her door.

She raised an eyebrow. "Please don't tell me that's a territorial move, Samuel."

"Not at all," he assured her with a grin. "I have a few plans for this stuff for later, and this way I can think about it all afternoon."

"Don't forget to run the country!" she called after him as he strolled back into the cold, then sat down at her desk with a smile. Sparring with Sam was always fun, but she was sure tonight's discussion was going to be especially stimulating. 


End file.
